


the physics of falling

by memento_amare



Series: old work (from Tumblr) [9]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Banter, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Research Partners, Science Nerds, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, physics references bc duh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26341495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/memento_amare/pseuds/memento_amare
Summary: the three cases of freefall motion as told by kuroo.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/You
Series: old work (from Tumblr) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911856
Comments: 4
Kudos: 81





	the physics of falling

**➳ case one:**

it starts off at zero. you’re known to be sweet, and you were when you first became lab partners. but kuroo loves to push people’s buttons; it keeps him entertained. he never expected you return his banter with a sharp wit that belied your normally calm nature. and he knows you’re _smart_ , you easily keep up with him on so many levels, but he finds you far too interesting to be intimidated.

he’s in the library sitting across from you, a stack of books obscuring his view. you are furrowed brows and strained productivity, typing away at your laptop with tiredness seeping from your eyes. he is lanky legs propped on the table, head thrown back in a dramatic monologue.

“why do we even need eight print sources, there are journals published online––”

“kuroo,”

“––they’re more updated than this, too! _and_ easier to find––”

“kuroo,”

“––there’s a reason why the library’s online catalog is more updated than the print, for crying out loud––”

“ _kuroo!_ ” you hiss. he turns to you.

“what?”

“feet off the table.” he grins when you don’t disagree with his statements, and obeys, resorting to resting his head on the table. he shifts to one side, the books no longer in the way of seeing your exasperated expression. there is a strand of hair that falls in your face. he lazily traces its path with his eyes: from forehead to brow to cheekbones to finally the corner of your lips.

you keep at your laptop. “you’re staring.”

he shrugs. “i see nothing better to look at.”

“try your computer, because i’m three-fourths done with my part and you barely started.”

“i’ll get it done eventually, i always do.”

“ _kuroooo_ ,” you groan, “i’ll treat you to ramen afterward, just finish it so we can finally work on the next chapter.”

he lifts his head at that, giving you a catlike smile. “now that’s motivation.”

“preferably, your motivation would be full marks––“

“shh, i know you love me, y/n––”

“…”

you’re silent, and the typing had stopped. growing slightly uncomfortable, he glances at you only to find that you beat him to it, e/c eyes trained on him.

the corner of your lips tugs into a half-smile as you say, softly, “sure, kuroo.”

you’re doing it again. you know exactly how to shut him up: “relent” to his teasing to give him a semblance of victory, when it is really you who benefits from the silence that follows thereafter. he knows it, and he’s picked up on it enough times to not be fooled.

you look up at him again, and grumble, “stop staring already,” a pretty pink dusting your cheeks.

you turn back to your work, absently tucking back the strands that were in your face, and for a moment, he finds himself wishing that he had done it himself. the longer he stares, the more he notices the minute details: the pimple on your forehead that you complained about last week is almost gone, you suck in your bottom lip when deep in thought, and your lashes are surprisingly long. the moment he realizes what he’s doing, heat crawls up his neck and he turns to his laptop with a fumble.

it started off at zero, a drop he doesn’t realize had already happened – until the air rushes out his lungs and he is breathless in the plunge.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

**➳ case two:**

he disregards it as an anomaly, a failure in calculations located somewhere between solving for the distance of your relationship and the mass of your friendship.

but he feels the butterflies conquer his stomach again, as you send him a smile from beside the lab entrance. he takes the keys he borrowed out from his pocket, unlocking the door.

he’s pretty sure the lab technician memorized their list of chemicals already by the number of times you’ve been running the tests. you both move with practiced ease: you’re taking out the chemicals and arranging them by label while he carefully takes out the samples you’ve been working on, drawing it up a pipet. after exchanging a glance, you begin to run through each test and murmur the results for him to take down.

right after you clean up all the equipment and store away the sample, you open your laptop and type the results through the analysis software. you’re biting your lip in worry. he notices, but says nothing. the results have always been positive, but they weren’t positive _enough_ , and for some reason that’s even more frustrating. 

you’ve been experimenting with the ratios of ingredient and preparation processes, looking for sources that could shed light on other ideas. you’re both adamant about getting this right, and damn it all, if there’s one thing you and kuroo share, it’s your stubbornness.

the results run out, numbers on tables and you scroll down quickly, skipping over the descriptives. he feels his heart beat faster and faster as you near the meat of the analysis. his eyes zoom to the p-value at the same time you let out a whoop of joy.

“ _finally!_ yes! we did it!” you cheer, punching the air. suddenly you’re shaking his shoulders and he’s laughing, uncaring that you probably look like dorks celebrating in the lab with a laptop in front of you.

the high eventually dies down and settles into a comfortable lull. you seat yourself back on the chair and begin to copy the necessary tables for the paper into a word file. he remains standing but props his forearms on the table, his head about the same height as yours. 

your ponytail has come loose from the prior jubilation, and he notices a strand of hair has fallen onto your face. he absently tucks it behind your ear, fingers brushing the skin of your cheekbone. you turn to him but the words die from your mouth. 

there is an impossibly fond look on his face, the same one you see him stare at you with when you pretend not to pay attention, the same one that you caught him with that day at the library, and you can’t look away.

the tension has been growing exponentially over the past few months, awkward moments charged with _something_ that neither of you wanted to name. his hand lingers on your cheek, thumb tracing the marks left behind by the goggles earlier. his expression doesn’t change.

“you’re staring,” you whisper, barely audible.

he mouth quirks upward. he says, equally soft, “i see nothing better to look at.”

gravity draws him nearer and nearer, and the fact that you’re not pulling away gives him a burst of mad courage as he closes the distance between you and him.

the warmth of your lips is a downward thrust, an initial velocity that wasn’t there before. it happens again – the wind sings in his ears and he can’t breathe – it happens again, and he knows now for sure that it’s real.

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

**➳ case three:**

it is not the falling he’s used to; there are no angles and forward momentum, unlike the volleyballs he can bring back up the air. there is really no trajectory now, only down, down, _down._

he doesn’t know whether to calculate the acceleration of his feelings in heartbeats per second squared or breaths stolen per minute squared.

he knows the taste of you now, how it feels when distance is zero. he knows it’s real, but he can’t bring himself to come to you. he’s not _scared_ , he’s just protective of what you already have and he doesn’t want to lose you _now_ of all times.

he tries to balance it out, tries to counter the pull that’s growing harder and harder to deny. gravity and distance are inversely related after all; when one grows, the other decreases. he just has to reduce the gravity that pulls him to you until he can sort himself out.

he’s not avoiding you. not actively, anyway. you’re not beside each other outside of science classes, and you’re not one for initiating conversations (that’s more of his job). but after the incident, he supposes he has it coming when you grab his hand and drag him to a deserted corridor.

“you’re avoiding me.” a frown is etched on your features.

“correction: i’m not.”

“you haven’t talked to me for two days.” you scuffle your feet. “it… _that…_ doesn’t have to mean anything if you’re that bothered by it.”

something in him twists when he hears that. he doesn’t know why, cannot explain why his heart soars up his throat before plummeting to his stomach. “is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“well _i don’t know_ , but i do know that you don’t just kiss someone and not talk to them for two days! we’re still going to be working more after this, so _sue me_ if i’m trying to be the more professional one here,” you snap.

he doesn’t know what to say, and for a stupid reason, his mouth defaults into cheek. “miss me already, don’t you?”

“well… yeah.” he stares at you, speechless at your honesty.

he remembers how you let him caress your cheek. how you returned the kiss instead of pulling away. he remembers how you treated him to ramen in return for him treating you to ice cream, how you whispered your insecurities one night at a three am video call originally meant for finishing your methodology.

“what happens if i want it to mean something?” he steps closer, and a small part of him whispers to take another one, and another and another, to close the distance to zero again.

“then… then what do you want it to mean?” you whisper. you’re still not pulling away, and he feels the same rush of bravery as he did in the lab. his heart flies higher and higher and he’s half exhilarated and half terrified at how far away the ground is.

“ _everything_.” his lips are on yours again. he is weightless, the wind singing in his ears as you wrap your arms around his neck. it washes over him in a wave of warmth, and he hardly realizes how breathless he is until you part.

he rests your forehead against his, hands on either side of your head. he drinks in every piece of you, drawing diagrams in his mind to map out the way your lashes flutter beneath blown pupils. 

you stay like that for some time. 

“you’re staring,” you finally whisper, and he smiles at the familiar line.

“i see nothing better to look at.” you smile back at his response. you part your foreheads from each other.

“so much for being professional,” you mutter.

he laughs, “but isn’t this so much better?”

“… yeah. i guess it is.” he grabs your hand you smile. he intertwines your fingers as you walk back to the classroom, and he can’t help but feel it’s _right_. 

perhaps, he doesn’t need to predict the trajectory of his fall, since its path will always be right to you.


End file.
